Today Is The Day
by QuotePoop
Summary: A day in the life of a experienced crafter.


Today is the day.

I got up with the sun to my back, sitting alone on a large bed. The bed was made from wood, with blankets packed into cloth to serve as a matress. The sun was warm; not to hot, not to cold. It always was.

I sat on the edge of the bed while I collected my wits, a daily chore. After a while, I got up. I walked over to a chest of mine and grabbed a few items; a cloth shirt, cloth breeches, and some heavily worn socks. They were my most comfortable clothes. I dressed quickly, something from habbit.

Behind me were the stairs down, and I walked to them straight after I was clothed. They creaked as I went down, but they didn't break. I doubted they would. The stairs broke in two, and then came aound apposite sides of the original stair. I promptly took he left stair and proceeded to the kitchen, straight across from the stairs. I had two stone stoves and two basins for water, each full. Then, strutting from them was a few counter tops, mostly for preparing food. I had left half a loaf of bread from last night and felt it. Still good.

As I ate the bread, I walked beck towards the stairs. The stairs had another break, meeting again to form a big stair down. I went down slowly, enjoying the bread as I went. The stairs were replicates of the ones just above, and they too split in the opposite directions, wraping around them selves.

In the basement was all of my food, all of is unprotected from the enviornment. No animals were here to get it. On the left side was all the wheat I had, and on the right was all of the pumpkins I had. on the walls with the stairs was coal. I grabbed a lump of coal as I went down the stairs and continued over to the pumpkins. I stuck the coal in my pocket and hefted one of the pumpkins to my shoulder. It was awkward, but I didn't want a second trip. I grabbed some of the wheat with my free hand and walked back to the stairs.

Slowly, I walked up the stairs, barely making it up without dropping the pumpkin. Instead of going straight to the kitchen, I went left to the table. It was huge, made for twelve or more people, and sat the pumpkin down. I went to the kitchen, put the coal in the oven, grabbed a knife, grabbed a cruncher, and went back to the pumpkin. I proceded to crank some of the wheat down into flour with the cruncher, a machine I gathered from the crash.

After I had all the wheat gone, I started sllicing the pumpkin with the knife, making is good enough for a pie. After I had the chunks I needed, I took them to the kitchen to be smooshed. I used a wooden mallet to smash it down to a paste and picked picked out the seeds. As I did, I looked out the window nearest me. Outside the waves splashed onto the shore, beating the sand back to down to flatness.

After that was acomplished, I went to the door of my house, between the stairs and the kitchen. I walked outside, something that still takes my breathe away. I was on the middle of an island, something I loved and despised every day. I walked down a brick path I had made to a little pen where I kept Bessy. She was a cow, the only other survivor of the crash.

I used to milk her daily, and she was probably the only reason I am alive. She was aging, something more to worry about. She was a young cow when we first arrived, but now she was past the age of giving milk. I still tried though. I always did. This time she actually gave off a little milk, maybe even enought to make some good dough.

It was near luncktime now, so I was pretty hungry. I had patience though, and continued on with the pie. I made some nice dough, streched it in a pan, put the pie filling in, and covered it with the lat of the dough. I put it in the oven, happy of the way it was turning out. I went back the door way, grabbed a fishing pole from the empty coat racks that lined the wall, and exited my house. I turned right, and went down to the fishing area.

It had a mostly intact umbrella, and a blanket to sit on. I threw out the line towards a school of fish, and sat back on the blanket. I tried hard to stay awake, but eventually I fell asleep, lying with a cool breeze to my front. When I woke up, not very much had passed, but there was a fish on the line. I snagged the line, catching the fish.

I went back inside, put back the rod, and cooked the fish. It would take a little while, so I went back up to my bedroom. To the right of the stairs, perpendicular to the bed, was my desk. I walked over to it and picked up a book from a nearby shelf. I only had seven, but I liked this one alot. It was fictional story of a boy on a quest to find a magical stone. I read for a while, until I got bored. After the reading, I wrote a letter at the desk. It was a help note, asking for rescue. It contained info about the island, such as demensions and height off of the water.

After the letter was written, I went back down the stairs, out the house, and back to the fishers nook. I grabbed the last of the non-broken bottles from the crash, putting the note inside, and sealed it with a cork. I threw the bottle as far as I could, hoping to hit a wave. I didn't.

I walked back to the house, smelling that the fish was done. It was nice and soft, tender like all fish are. I ate it in the middle of the long-table, clearing away the mess from the pumpkin. After I finished, I cleaned the cruncher and the pumpkin knife. I set them back on the counter.

I again looked out the window, but this time seeing my own reflection. I had brownish hair, a trait from my mother, along with bright blue eyes. But looking closer revealed that my eyes were faded, and my hair was going grey. I had been here too long.

I looked away from the window, and went back up the stairs. I went back to my chests, grabbing a knife, and my old pocket watch. it was four in the afternoon. I went back to reading, and i read for a few hours. The story was good, but lacked the excitment that it once had. It was a childerens book, anyways.

I went back down stairs to check on the pie. It was done, thankfully. I set it on the counter, and poked a few holes in the top. It smelled great, and would make a wonderful meal. But, now came the part of the day that I didn't want to think about, the part I dreaded. I walked out the door, and walked towards the pen Bessy stayed at.

Today is the day, I kept reminding myself. Today is the day. I opened the pen and walked over to Bessy. She mooed softly, almost hoarsley. She was too old. Most cows would die at 15. She could barely produce milk anymore. It had to be done. I pulled out the knife from my pocket, a bare steel knife. Bessy just stared dumbly. I told her that i loved her, crying like a baby. It had to be done. I said goodbye. I cryed some more. I held the knife to her throat, and cut.

She mooed once before toppling over. I fell to the ground, not caring if I sat on dung ot blood. The tears came hard, hating life and it's stupid rules. I cried for what felt lie hours. eventually, I calmed down. The best thing I could do is to eat some of Bessy. She would have wanted it that way. I cut some of the meat, again openly crying as I did. I mumbled sorry almost every five seconds. After I had a nice sized steak, I went inside. I put it in the oven, replacing where the fish had been. I drank some water from the basin, and cleaned up.

Afterwords, I grabbed a spade from a closet and dug a grave for Bessy, beside the only tree on the small island. the grave had to be large, and took almost an hour, but it was eventually done. I set her in gently, with her wrapped in a blanket. I poured some of the dirt on her, until it was all gone. With the hole filled, I found a nice sized stone and put it beside her grave.

The sun was setting on the small little island, but my dinner was done. I went back out to the tree, sitting on the only play thing on the island: a swing. I ate the pie and the steak as the sun sat on the ocean. It was beautiful, one of my greatest memories. I turned around, looking at my great house. It was quite large, and made of wood from the crash and glass created from the sand that was here. I mumbled good bye to the great shack.

With the knife that killed Bessy, I cut the rope off fairly high. I tied a noose from the remaining rope, and stood on Bessy's grave stone. The sun was almost down now, barely visable. I sat the rope around my head; it fit snuggly. Just as the sun blinked out, I jumped. The island was no more, Bessy was no more, and for the first time in the seven years I've been here, I found peace.


End file.
